


Seasons May Change

by graceandkooky



Series: New Blossoms & Old Roots [2]
Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Family, Fluff, Snapshots, read if you need cheering up or on a rainy day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-01 21:07:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11494770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graceandkooky/pseuds/graceandkooky
Summary: Post-Sweet Peas and Honey Bees, Grace and Frankie muddle through their relationship and help each other grow throughout the seasons.Most of this can be read as a stand-alone fic but I'd recommend reading the above story before the last chapter :).





	1. Autumn

**Author's Note:**

> This series is mainly pure fluff with one or two bumps in the road (that are always resolved, don't you worry). 
> 
> I meant to say on my last fics - I'm British but a lot of my family is American, so I tend to use British spellings and a mixture of British/American vocab. Sorry if that's confusing!
> 
> Please let me know if you enjoy it (or even if you don't, I'm open to critiques as long as they aren't too mean!).

Grace wakes up and smiles, studying Frankie’s sleeping form. Marvels at how Frankie’s face - now nearly as familiar to her as her own - so memorable, so striking - is always changing. She feels like each day she finds more beauty there than before - more things that take her breath away. Can’t believe how much she treasures each little crease and crinkle. How much she loves Frankie’s hair - spilling out over her pillow like a silky curtain. Loves its scent - nectarines and sandalwood.

She still has to pinch herself that it’s real. That Frankie is real and _here_ and that they get to wake up together every day. To hold hands as they read through their sections of the paper. Amble through their respective routines. Leave, and come back, greeting each other with more excitement and gratitude than before. And she’s amazed, because Frankie loves her, warts and all. _Not_ that she has any warts - she’d have those zapped off quicker than Frankie can eat cheese fries. But Frankie's seen the ugly parts of her - the tough knots and jagged edges that she’s still trying to smooth out - and stayed anyway. Loved her anyway.

They’re still adjusting, of course. Still have their fair share of fights, but now they end with kisses and healing. With progress. Grace is still working on stamping down her pride. Working on her ‘I’m sorry’s. Trying to think before she speaks. Because Frankie is sensitive and she bruises easily, resilient as she might be, and Grace is determined to make sure no one tramples on her precious heart. Takes off her own boots at the door. Soothes Frankie’s war-wounds with kindness and patience.

Frankie is still working on her devil-may-care attitude. On telling white lies when they’re necessary. On turning down her music to a level fit for human eardrums. Making a real effort to be less hot-headed and to hear Grace out. Most of all, she’s trying to let Grace know that it’s okay to admit when she’s made a mistake. That she is worth every infuriating second. Because these useless arguments - ridiculous squabbles and stuck out tongues - are part of their life together, and Frankie wouldn't trade them for anything. Neither of them would. They want to get on each other’s nerves and muddle through pointless quarrels. Will love each other more than any bad days that are sure to come. Because being together, just being _together_ , fixes most things. Fixes damn near all of them, even.

Grace runs her fingertip over Frankie’s hairline and breathes a grateful sigh that the simple contact still sends tiny electric shocks through her hand, like pleasant pins and needles. Frankie just does things to her that she can’t explain. Grace laughs. _Yes_ , to her body, and that has been… that has been more life-affirming than Grace ever bargained for. Like discovering a new continent. More exhilarating - more joyful and silly than she’s ever known. But it’s more than that - Frankie has changed the shape of her whole being and now it feels like everything is heightened. Everything is just a little more meaningful.

She can’t help but kiss her cheek - because Frankie has such kissable cheeks - and then gently sneaks away to the kitchen.

* * *

Frankie opens her eyes when Grace places a tray down beside her. She is startled for a moment, grumbles, and then lights up when she sees Grace. Takes in her stunning face - all liquid eyes and glowing skin. Her hair which hasn’t quite made it to a brush yet (though Grace has definitely tamed it with her fingers). Beams.

“Grace!” She cries dizzily, like a child with a new swing set. Bundles Grace up in her arms immediately and tucks her under her chin, peppering kisses against her head.

Grace simpers. “Morning, Darling.”

In her sleepy drawl, Frankie speaks. “I had such a dope dream about a sheep that could sing ‘Hotel California’ word for word. Which is crazy, because I don’t think I know that many. Better than The Eagles by a landslide. Not the Fleetwood Mac song - that’s the greatest tune of all time, obviously. But I tell you, that ram had some real talent.” Frankie stops to take a breath. Sees Grace’s bemused expression. Kisses it off her face. “But I _missed_ you!”

Grace blushes, looking up at Frankie from beneath her lashes. “I missed you, too. And that does sound like quite a dream you had.” Frankie rewards her with a wide grin that stretches impossibly far. Pushes Grace back against the pillows.

She kisses Grace again for good measure. Clutches at her shoulders and sloppily seals their mouths, lavishing attention on Grace’s already swollen bottom lip. Has to remember to separate for breathing purposes - _stupid lungs_. She manages to gulp back some air before Grace tugs her back down, biting and sucking eagerly - bumping their teeth together as they lose out to their smiles.

Frankie pushes herself up onto her elbows, her hair hanging down and creating a canopy of safety - a curtain between them and the rest of the world. She cannot believe how abundantly she loves this woman. How entirely. She finally notices the tray of waffles and coffee. The bright peony Grace has placed in a miniature vase for her. The arts segment of the paper. Feels warm all over.

* * *

It’s All Hallow’s Eve and Frankie is bursting with Halloween-fever. Mallory’s asked them to have Maddy for a few nights while she prepares for the upcoming move and Frankie has jam-packed their schedule with festive fun.

Maddy and Frankie are carving jack-o-lanterns in the kitchen, listening to the Hocus Pocus soundtrack. “Honey,” Grace calls, her voice getting louder as she walks into the room. “Do I even want to know why someone just called to say we’ve now successfully adopted a Black Spider Monkey?”

She takes in the events unfolding before her as she leans against the doorframe. Maddy is standing on a stool wearing a little Dora the Explorer pinafore and Frankie’s kitted out in an old apron that says ‘If I’m Cooking, Call the Cops’. It’s hard to tell which one is the most excited.

Frankie claps her hands, sending pumpkin seeds flying everywhere. “Aw, _yes_! I adopted us a Black Spider Monkey!”

“I got that part, funnily enough.” Grace rolls her eyes, putting the phone back in its cradle. “We’re gonna be sponsoring the entire rainforest soon.”

Grace immediately regrets floating that possibility out there, even as a joke. Knows what’s coming before Frankie even opens her mouth. “That’s a great idea! We can sponsor an acre of it, then work our way up!”

Grace walks around the counter. Rests her forehead against Frankie’s. “Maybe we’ll just start with the animals first, okay?” She kisses Frankie’s cheek and pulls away, moving over to see Maddy’s current project.

“How’s the pumpkin coming along, Sweetie?” Maddy pushes it forwards with such enthusiasm that it lurches precariously. She’s springing up and down, tugging Grace closer by the sleeve.

“Look Grandma Grace! Frankie’s helping me cut a spider in it! Like from Charlotte’s Web, see?” She points her little finger to the outline. “But first I gotta scoop out all the icky part.” Maddy scrunches up her nose.

Grace smiles. “Well, you guys are doing a wonderful job. It’s gonna be the best one on the block.” Maddy beams, offering Grace a toothy reply. Gets back to work.

Grace remembers their earlier trip to the pumpkin patch - Maddy swinging each of their hands as they walked through the rows and rows of brilliant orange spheres. Naming each one. Their willowy silhouettes merging into each other behind them.

She’s jolted out of her reverie when Maddy taps her. “And guess what? Frankie says we’s gonna put some cingymum inside so’s when we light it we can smell pumpkin pie! Right, Frankie?”

“You got it, Little Firecracker,” Frankie praises, high-fiving her across the worktop.

Grace watches them interacting, letting their voices fade into a gentle hum as her mind drifts. She thinks about how foreign this kind of scene once was to her. Thinks back to polished silverware and cold, rehearsed dinners. To vacant expressions and forced exchanges. Blinks back tears as Frankie winds her arm around Maddy, gesturing to one of the tools on the counter.

Because this is the kind of family life that Grace always imagined for herself when she was a little girl. The one she dreamt of long before Robert and Say Grace and the law firm. Before the soirees and business functions and shallow friends took up all her time and energy. She wishes things had been different - that she’d been a better mother to Brianna and Mallory. A good enough wife to sense that something was amiss with her marriage. But she knows regrets will get her nowhere. Will not make the past taste any less bitter. Instead of letting them consume her, she concentrates on doing what she can to change things in the present. On appreciating everything she has now. On not making any more.

So she strides over to where Frankie is standing and cups her cheeks. Kisses her sweetly. Draws back and tucks a few wisps of hair behind her ear. “I love you. _So much_ ,” Grace breathes with such resolve it’s almost tangible, tilting her head to the side. Takes the time to remember how content she feels in this moment. “I’m gonna run to the store to grab what we need for later, okay? I won’t be long.”

Frankie notices the hitch in Grace's voice. Senses her swirling emotions. “I love you even more.” Pecks Grace’s puckered lips. “Travel safe. Don’t forget to bring me guac.”

Maddy is giggling and Grace lets go of Frankie, capturing Maddy in her arms. “And I love you, Madison,” she gushes against Maddy’s cheek. “Keep an eye on Frankie until I get back.” She winks. Heads for the door.

Maddy’s voice sails through the air behind Grace. “Love you, too, Grandma!” It sounds like it’s being tickled out of her. Grace can hear peals of laughter ringing out as she leaves and she grins all the way to her car. Basks in this weightless happiness.

* * *

Grace is at the store picking up snacks for their movie night, moving between the neon-lit aisles in her usual poised fashion, scanning the shelves. Her phone beeps and she reaches into her bag. Pulls it out, knowing full well who’s messaging her. Sighs fondly.

**My Idiot: Can you pick up some more candy corn? Because I may have accidentally eaten most of it. xxx**

**My Idiot: Okay, full disclosure, I ate all of it. xxx**

**My Idiot: Maddy asked if you can get Red Vines as well. xxx**

**My Idiot: Okay, my bad, that’s also me. xxx**

Grace shakes her head in amusement. Puts away her phone. 

She thinks about how hard she tried to push down this love that she feels. Denied its existence for so long. How it refused to be silenced, like the tell-tale heart under the floorboards. Crept into every crevice of her life. Every nook and cranny of their house. Into every dish, and light fitting, and every one of Frankie’s neti pots. Hid out in every cobweb. And now it’s a blanket of comfort and affection that cozily wraps her up from the inside out. That makes Grace believe in the goodness of people again - believe that maybe _she_ is a good person, too.

 _Oh, just this once_ , she vows, dutifully adding the items to her list. Browses for a little while longer.

She finally makes it to the checkout with a basket full of candy and a bottle of vodka. And a dancing skeleton that she knows will make Frankie laugh. Waits for the cashier to ring up her purchases. Fakes a polite smile when he jokes about her ‘great night in’.

* * *

They’re watching Halloweentown together, snuggled up on the couch. Maddy’s sitting in Grace’s lap in her Mulan jimjams, munching popcorn. Frankie is by Grace’s side, talking to the characters as if they can hear her.

“You go, Aggie! Fight the power! Tell them to stick it.” Her running commentary dies down now and again as she pauses to sip her hot chocolate. Grace drinks her ‘grown up juice’ and runs her fingers through Maddy’s soft locks. It’s comfortable and homely and so unbelievably _right_.

When the credits roll and they notice Maddy’s eyelids starting to droop, they call it a night. Shuffle her upstairs into Mallory and Brianna’s old room. Tuck her under the covers and turn on her flower-shaped nightlight.

Grace wanders back down to make her some hot milk and Frankie perches on the end of the bed, rubbing Maddy’s legs softly over the blankets. She loves having this little person in their house - this peppy ball of vitality and joy. This person whose cheeky grin so often resembles Grace’s.

“Frankie?” Maddy’s sleepy voice tiptoes out.

“Yeah, Little Dipper?”

There’s a pause before Maddy cracks one eye open, peeking up at Frankie. “Mommy says you and Grandma love each other like Grandpa and Grandpops.” She rolls onto her back, reaching out for Frankie’s hand. “Is that right?”

Frankie smiles down at her. “Yeah, it is, Nugget.”

Maddy looks pleased with herself and nods. “So do you wanna marry her, too? Like in Tangled? But with girls?”

Frankie’s usually unfazed by anything but the question knocks her off base for a moment. Catches her off guard. She thinks about Grace’s sweet shampoo. How she brushes her teeth with more precision than Cinderella scrubbing floors. About minty kisses and mundane chatter. How all of those things bowl her over more than winning a World Series. What she feels for Grace scares the hell out of her - shakes the skin off her bones. But it brings her more steadiness, more stability, more _bliss_ than she ever dared to hope for.

She laughs, stroking Maddy’s head. “Yeah, Munchkin. Yeah, I do.”

And then Grace comes back into the room, fussing over the pillows and blowing on the warm drink. Waits for Frankie to kiss Maddy’s forehead and say goodnight before doing the same.

Later, in their own room, Frankie curls around Grace whose head rests on her clavicle, already asleep. Watches the steady rise and fall of her chest. She’s slightly suffocated by the weight of Grace’s leg across her hips but she doesn’t mind one iota. Gathers her even closer and feels completely, blessedly, at peace.

* * *

It’s still morning when Maddy and Grace finally round the corner of their street after a lengthy stroll through the neighbourhood. Maddy is racing along, looking at all of the remnants of decorations and pointing them out ecstatically to Grace. A gingerbread house here, a witch’s hat there. She especially loves the flashing ghost that someone forgot to switch off. Grace isn’t exactly loving the tacky streamers and gimmicky props but Maddy’s laughter is infectious and she lets herself be swept up in the magic.

As they reach their house, Grace spots the tree in their front yard. Furrows her brows for a moment, processing the sight. Apparently, at some point yesterday, Frankie came out here with her bean knife. Lost her mind. Carved ‘G + F’ into the bark. _What an idiot_ , Grace muses, shaking her head. She can’t believe Frankie wasn’t more worried about the harm it would do to the tree. But she runs her finger over it nonetheless, letting a tiny smile escape her. _What a sentimental, adorable, idiot_.

Grace thinks about her crazy flower child, who drives her ‘round the bend and back multiple times a day. Who sneaks far too many sugars into her coffee. Who can’t walk by a Cinnabon without breaking into a sprint. Who she _loves_ , more than anything else.

Maddy tugs her hand, pulling her back into reality. “G and F”, Maddy sounds out gradually, sticking out her tongue in concentration. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Grace explains, brushing back Maddy’s fringe, “that Grandma Grace loves Frankie, very, very much.”

Maddy nods and Grace can see hundreds of little thoughts zipping around like jumping beans in her head. “More than candy corn and sunshine? More than grown up juice?”

Grace chuckles, nodding back. Taps Maddy’s chin lightly. “Yes, Maddy, more than all of those things.” Maddy smiles, placated by her answer. Rests her cheek against Grace’s hand.

Grace digs into her handbag. Takes out the scissors from her manicure kit. She knows that she’s going to have to write them off - that they’ll be blunt after this - but she doesn't care. Slowly but surely adds ‘Forever’ beneath Frankie’s sweet and lasting handiwork. Says a quick prayer for the tree.

* * *

Frankie is sprawled out across the couch when they return - limbs flung everywhere. Grace melts at the sight. Rolls her eyes with deep affection. Everything Frankie does is larger than life - her exaggerated hand gestures, her non-stop romping - and in sleep she’s no different. She’s loath to wake her up but Maddy is already hotfooting it across the living room, poking Frankie’s legs.

To her credit, Frankie comes round relatively quickly. Stretches out and rubs her eyes. Grins like a Cheshire cat when she notices Maddy standing before her, yanking on the bottom of her dungarees. Maddy just about manages to wait for Frankie to sit up before barrelling on.

"Guess what, guess what, _guess what_?" Maddy squeals, jumping from foot to foot. "Grandma Grace says you're her most favouritest person in the whole wide world and she loves you more than candy corn and sunshine and even grown up juice!" Maddy is rattling off her words at a mile a minute, bouncing up and down with a Texas-sized grin.

She scrambles up on to the couch, crawling into Frankie's lap and wrapping her little arms around Frankie's neck. Looks up into Frankie's warm, mellow orbs. "And I love you, too, Grandma Frankie! Even more than _worms_.”

Frankie thinks she might faint from the elation she's feeling. Kisses Maddy’s forehead. Smoothes her fingers over her cheek and then cradles her closely. Grace has never seen her smile with such delight. “I love you, too, Honeybunch.” She looks up at Grace whose watery expression matches her own. “Always. I love you, both, too.”


	2. Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say before you read this chapter that I mean no disrespect by only briefly mentioning Hanukkah in my fic. I wanted to pay homage to Frankie’s customs (because I see the family celebrating both) but I’m not super knowledgeable about Hanukkah and I don’t want to misrepresent it. I hope that makes sense! The main point of the fic is to showcase a single day of gift-giving and family togetherness anyway, so hopefully that’s the thing you’ll take away from it. :)

It's Christmas morning and Frankie's up uncharacteristically early, frantically gluing the sequins onto the Christmas stockings that she's customised for above the fireplace. Grace watches her careening around the living room like a bat out of hell. Snickers at the gibberish that is flying from Frankie's mouth. Just about resists pointing out that she could have done this _weeks_ ago (as Grace suggested,  _many_ times).

Grace takes pity on her and pads to the kitchen to get a pot of coffee going. Quietly brings it through and sets down a mug close (but not  _too_ close) to where Frankie is working away. 

"Shall I hang up the ones that you've finished?" Grace asks, smoothing her hand over the curve of Frankie's hunched back. "And let me pull the coffee table closer so you can sit on the couch. Otherwise your spine is not going to like you tomorrow."

Frankie huffs, reluctantly moving back onto the seat as Grace rearranges the furniture. "Yeah, well  _I_ don't like me  _today_. I should've done this when I had more time." Her face is sullen and her lip trembles precariously. "These all look mangled now."

Grace settles next to her and takes her hands, stilling their frenzied movements. "Hey, they look wonderful, okay? I swear. Everyone's gonna love them." She presses a delicate kiss against Frankie's jaw. "Pass me the green ones - I'll help. We'll get it done in no time."

"Really?" Frankie sniffs, looking at Grace sceptically. She knows Grace absolutely hates crafting.

" _Really_." Grace smiles, patting Frankie's knee. "Come on - hand them over before I change my mind."

Frankie slides them across to Grace and they get underway, painstakingly adding the final embellishments to the red felt. Frankie looks at Grace out of the corner of her eye and smirks. “Does that mean now’s the right time to ask you to wear the Buddy the Elf hat I got you?”  
  
Grace chuckles, flicking a gluey finger against Frankie’s arm. “Don’t push your luck.”

* * *

They finish with half an hour to spare and make it out of the house and back with enough time left over to breathe easy. Soon the rabble will arrive - their peanut-gallery of mayhem and madness and _so, so much_ love. Will unwrap their mutually bought gifts, pull crackers, and no doubt bicker over everything under the sun. 

But for now, they sit under their mohair blanket watching the lights on the tree. Admire the fruits of their labours that now hang across the mantel. A little messier than Frankie had been aiming for, perhaps, but not bad for two pairs of arthritic hands. And all the more beauti ful because they made them together.

Frankie’s menorah stands above them on the fireplace, where it’s taken up residence since the end of Hanukkah several days ago. Frankie delighted in teaching Grace the special prayers that accompanied the lighting of candles each dusk. In cooking her potato latkes with sour cream (even if Grace did make her put half her usual salt back). In watching the flames gradually grow in number and brightness. And to her credit, Grace has loved learning about Frankie’s traditions. Loved being included in them.

Because they share holiday traditions now. Candles still flicker on their picture shelves, dotted amidst graduation photographs and holiday snaps, though for a different reason. Grace likes to light them every year as reminders of those who are no longer able to be there. Frankie adds a few of her own, and one, in the centre, burns brightly for Babe. 

Earlier, Grace went with Frankie to help at the soup kitchen downtown. Donated her time as well as her money, and Frankie is moved beyond measure that she  _wanted_ to join her. So when they get back, they make the special cocoa Grace’s Nana used to make - with extra cinnamon and a spoonful of treacle. Savour its sweet, comforting taste.

And this year, they make their own traditions. Grace usually buys the tree from a store - or sends someone else to - but this year Frankie convinces her that they should pick one out together.  
  
Grace laughs, remembering the conversation that had played out when that particular activity was proposed.    

 

> “Grace, pretty please can we go to the tree farm? It’s _Christmas_.”
> 
> Grace sighs, shaking her head. “I don’t care if the ‘please’ is the winner of Miss World, Frankie. The answer is no. It’s so much less practical.”  
>    
>  “Oh, but _please_. It will be so much more magical if we get to choose our own tree. _Our own tree, Grace_. Just yours and mine.” The combination of Frankie’s words and her pout weakens Grace’s knees and _of course_ she relents. Knows she’d do absolutely anything if it would make Frankie happy.
> 
> “Okay, _fine_ ,” she smiles, rolling her eyes, and Frankie’s immediately in her arms, kissing her face. And Grace is giddy and smitten and ridiculously happy, too. Because kissing Frankie always feels like blowing out birthday candles. Like wishing on dandelions. Like praying.
> 
> “Man, this love stuff really is a motherfucker, huh?” Grace chuckles, kissing Frankie’s forehead. “I’m pretty sure my sanity up and left lightyears ago.”
> 
> Frankie snorts, shoving Grace’s shoulder. “Nah, kid, you’re still saner than I am for sure.”
> 
> Grace rests her lips against Frankie’s brow, pecking it softly. “That, my love, is not altogether reassuring.”
> 
> They stop short of cutting it down themselves, much to Frankie’s dismay (but Grace doesn’t fancy spending the holiday season in the ER). On the drive back they take the long way home so they can look at everyone’s Christmas lights. And Frankie is right - it’s a magic like Grace never believed in.

And now, their decorations are a mess of tinsel and haphazardly hung baubles. An angel on top that Frankie’s jazzed up with a photo of Grace’s face. Before, Grace would have hired someone to make sure everything was flawless - the perfect Christmas array worthy of a spread in a holiday catalogue. But this year, they decorate it together - pelting each other with chocolate peanuts and listening to cheesy Christmas tunes that Grace always hated. Okay, still kind of hates, but now sings along to. Dances to, even.

Grace is a little stiff during the rock songs and it turns out Frankie has two left feet when it comes to foxtrots and waltzes, but they meet somewhere in the middle. Last night they spun around the kitchen to White Christmas, laughing and stumbling as they went. Could practically feel the flakes falling down around them in their perfect little snow-globe world.

Pulling herself back into the present moment, Grace kisses Frankie’s ear, resting her head against her shoulder. Frankie slips her palm into Grace’s and they bathe in the tranquility until the doorbell eventually rings.

* * *

After a lively lunch which thankfully only has a few hitches (like when Macklin uses his spoon to launch carrots at Robert) and a hilarity-filled gift exchange, Grace leads everyone into the studio. Her hands are over Frankie’s eyes and Bud and Robert each hold one of Frankie’s arms to prevent any sudden trips. 

The studio has been an area of secrecy of late. Grace asked Frankie not to work in there for a day or two so that she could get her present ready. Hung up sheets everywhere to cover proceedings. So Frankie’s taken to painting in Coyote and Bud’s old room (which she has grumbled about endlessly - “it throws off my vibe, Grace. And I swear, it still smells like Axe") and wondering about her surprise.

Frankie can tell from Grace’s slightly shaking palms that she’s nervous about Frankie’s reaction. That it’s something worth missing a second helping of dessert for. But nothing - _nothing_ \- prepares her for the sight before her when Grace peels back her fingers.  
  
Becausein front of her - at least she thinks it’s in front, because she’s not that confident that she’s still getting oxygen to her brain at this point - is the most jaw-dropping thing that Frankie’s ever seen. She thinks hers must be located on the floor somewhere.

Grace - _her_ _Grace_ \- who hates poetry and roses and overplayed love songs - has given Frankie the grandest gesture of love that anyone has ever made for her. Made for _anyone_. Only the balloon ride comes close to this and even that pales against the mosaic of light that now decorates the room.

Facing Frankie is a stained-glass window - each tinted panel casting kaleidoscopic patterns onto the studio floor. The design is buzzing with life - teeming with plants, and hummingbirds, and honey bees. And in the middle of the piece - vibrant, unapologetically loud and almost ethereal - stands a figure that Frankie knows is _her_.

She’s surrounded by calm hues of green and blue and bathed in gentle yellows and soft oranges. But Frankie is cast in brilliant purples, and indigos, and deep apricots. Her arms are outstretched, reaching for the skies, and she’s drenched in answering sunlight. She looks like a goddess, eclipsing all else. She looks like she’s breathing.

Mallory has her arm around Brianna’s shoulder and they both look entranced. In disbelief. Because  _their_ mother - their once stern and at times withholding mother - has done something so  open. So absolutely  _honest_. And it speaks volumes to them. They finally understand how in love Grace really is, and they’re speechless. And Frankie thinks she finally understands, too.

The guys are in a huddle by the store of canvases, each (with the exception of Sol who is evidently close to bawling) trying to downplay their amazement. The little ones are just transfixed by the coloured beams dancing across the floorboards.

Grace is shifting her weight between her feet and chewing her lip. Watching Frankie’s back anxiously. She’d had the installation designed this way on purpose - thought it only fitting to depict Frankie as the centre of the world.  _Grace’s_ world. But she feels vulnerable, suddenly, like she’s just handed her heart over for everyone to scrutinise. Knows that after this there will be no mistaking exactly  _how much_ Frankie means to her.

But then Frankie turns and nothing is as spellbinding as the real Frankie before her - face fixed in astonishment. In adoration. Grace knows the answer before she even speaks but she has to ask. “Do you - do you like - ” Frankie cuts her off, placing a gentle hand over her mouth.

“ _You_ ,” Frankie sobs out with smiling and shiny eyes, the weight of that one word filling the room, “are fucking  _everything_ to me, Grace Hanson.” And then the hand moves to Grace’s hair, tangling through it, pulling Grace a few inches closer. Frankie kisses her with such devoutness it’s as if the whole studio is filled with an orchestra of hymns.

* * *

It’s an hour or so later, and Frankie is wound so tightly she’s afraid she’s going to snap back any second and take someone’s eye out. “Mal, kitchen, stat,” she barks. Mallory casts a wary glance at the rest of the family and trails behind her.

Mallory can see that Frankie is freaking out before she opens her mouth. She’s pacing back and forth frantically and wringing her hands. “This is a disaster! What am I gonna do? Help me, Mallory - what can I do?” She’s tugging at her curls and Mallory briefly wonders if it’s possible for the vein in her forehead to break through the skin.  
  
“Frankie, okay. I need you to take a really deep breath. That’s it, keep it going.” She waits as Frankie follows her instructions. “And exhale.” Frankie lets out a dramatic whine as she does so. Folds her arms. “Now, tell me. What exactly are we talking about?”

“My gift for your mother. Keep up!” Frankie is still flitting around but now she looks ready to cry. “It’s not a fucking stained-glass window, I tell you that. Fuck! Where can I get a better gift on Christmas day? Way to go, Jesus, thanks for closing all the stores.”

Mallory digs around in the back of the cupboard and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. “Okay, you know what? You need to take a swig of this. I won’t tell Coyote or Mom.” It seems like Frankie is going to refuse for a minute before she yanks the bottle closer, knocking back a few glugs.

After sliding the bottle back into place, Mallory continues. “First off, it’s not a contest, okay? You know as well as I do that it’s just about showing the other person that you care about them.” She chuckles. “Remember last year when Brianna bought Coyote tickets to see The Killers and he bought her a _lava lamp_ ? She won’t admit it but she uses that hideous thing all the time. Says it relaxes her when she’s stoned.” Frankie nods, sitting down, finally, on one of the stools.

“It’s not about the item, it’s about the thought that went into it. And your gift is the most thoughtful thing my mom’s ever gonna have received. Trust me. I’ve sat through many strained Christmases watching her open appliances from my dad.” She smiles at Frankie and they exchange a knowing look. “And me and Brianna - we love her, we do - but we’re more of the Tiffany’s and Macy’s types.”

Frankie sighs, bobbing her head. “Well hell, the stores have fucked me anyway so you’re gonna  _have_ to be right I guess.”

Mallory grins and moves out from behind the counter, wrapping her arms around Frankie. “I swear to you - when she opens it, she’s gonna be blown away.”

When the pair eventually emerges from the kitchen, they find the rest of the family squabbling over the TV. Robert’s put on 'The Great Escape' yet again and Brianna is trying to wrestle the remote from his hands. Grace is perched on the edge of the couch, bouncing Maisy on her knee and speaking to her quietly. “Don’t worry, Button, we’re not gonna let Grandpa make us sit through that.” Both Mallory and Frankie smile at the sight.

Frankie is reluctant to break up the moment but she gradually moves to Grace, stopping to tickle Maisy’s tummy. “Hey,” Frankie simpers, swatting Grace’s arm affectionately. “Will you join me in the kitchen for a little pow-wow?” Grace nods. Hands Maisy to Mallory. Follows Frankie.

* * *

Frankie’s teetering on a chair, trying to reach on top of the cupboards and Grace winces. But she finally retrieves what she’s been scrabbling around for and (with a slight wobble) descends. She slides a gaudily wrapped parcel towards Grace across the island.

“Merry Christmas, Grace.” Frankie grins, then falters, snapping back into panic mode. “I just wanna say before you open it that it - that it’s -” She pauses, trying to find her words. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Grace lifts an eyebrow, quirking her lips. “Have you adopted part of the Antarctic for me? Or an endangered Egyptian bird?”

“Give me some credit, Hanson!” Frankie grumbles. “And it’s not a blender, so don’t worry about that. And obviously you already stole us a Vitamix.” She sighs, placing her hand on top of Grace’s. “I’m just sorry that it’s not a grand tribute to your existence. Because you deserve that, you really do. Anyway, I’ll shut up now. But I can get you a new gift as soon as Jesus decides his party is over.”

Grace starts slowly peeling back the layers of tape before Frankie has a chance to berate herself any further. “For the record, I don’t mind what it is. It came from you, so I already love it. Even if - ” The paper is finally off and Grace loses the ability to move her tongue. And the rest of her body, for that matter. Senses the tears coming immediately but can do nothing to halt their path.

Because nestled amongst the unnecessary amount of gift wrap, now sitting on a bed of ribbons and metallic bows, is a suede-bound album. And on the front, beneath the words ‘Grace’s Scrapbook’, is a miniature painting of Grace. She runs the pad of her forefinger over the portrait, touching it delicately. Traces the precise brushstrokes and soft colours that make it seem like Frankie’s made art out of clouds. Raises her eyes to meet Frankie’s. The smaller woman looks ready to bolt at any moment. Like she might explode.

“Sweetheart, this is  _beautiful_.  You’re so incredibly talented.” Grace turns her hand over under Frankie’s and tugs her closer so that she can wrap an arm around her middle.

Frankie still looks worried but smiles nonetheless. Gestures to the book. “Go on, you haven’t looked inside yet.”

So Grace does just that, peeling back the cover. Finds a handwritten message from Frankie on the first page.

_My Dearest Grace,_

_I hope that the artwork on the front does some justice to the sublime artwork that is your life. I’ve scavenged photos from everyone we know (and snooped everywhere in the house - don’t blow a gasket) and put them together for you here. I’d love to hear all about these memories if you’d like to share them. I’m thankful for every one because they’ve added the colours to the canvas of your spirit and you’re so bright now it’s unbelievable. And I’m grateful that they led you to me, because that’s more unbelievable still._

_Love always,_

_Frankie xxx_

Grace skims the pages with blurry vision, seeing photographs from different decades -  _different_ _lifetimes_. Looks up at Frankie with a question in her eyes when she notices that a third of the pages are blank. “I left some space at the back because your story’s not over yet. Our story. Even if we are long in the tooth. I wanted you to be able to add to it as we make more kickass memories.”

Grace grins and burrows her face into the collar of Frankie’s woollen jumper. Inhales deeply and revels in the scent of camomile and their washing detergent. Of home. “Frankie,” Grace weeps, still buried in Frankie’s neck. “This is the best gift I’ve even been given.  _You’re_ the best gift I’ve even been given.” She swats at her eyes. “And you were wrong before - it is ‘a grand tribute to my existence’, because it’s  _my life_ , Frankie. You’ve given me my life.”

She doesn’t know if it’s the embers of the past, or the glow of Christmas, or just a dam bursting inside of her, but Grace is suddenly kissing Frankie like she’s twenty again - all teeth, and heat, and bruising lips. She kisses her like she’s the only person she’s ever kissed. The only person she’ll ever kiss again.

And Frankie returns the frenzy - digging her fingers into Grace’s hips and blazing kisses down her neck. When they stop they’re breathless, and maybe a little sore, and so, so giddy. They look at each other and burst into giggles, embracing tightly.

“As much as I kinda wish the kids weren’t here right now, we should probably make sure they haven’t killed each other. Or their fathers, though that I’m less fussed about,” Frankie winks.

Grace laughs, nodding her agreement. “I love you so much, Darling. Merry Christmas.”

“I love you, too, baby.” Frankie plants one last kiss on Grace’s lips and then they collect themselves, smoothing out their clothes. Grace fixes her lipstick and tries, to some avail, to wipe the remnants of it from Frankie’s mouth. They’ll all know what they’ve been up to, but she doesn’t care at all.

“Oh, by the way,” Frankie murmurs as they walk towards the living room, arm in arm. “Do we have any walnuts left over? Because I’m trying to befriend one of our racoon neighbours.” Grace only offers a sigh in response.

* * *

Some genius decided at some point in the afternoon that they should play charades. No one’s clear on who anymore and everyone is equally mad about it. Because charades, for the Bergsteins and Hansons, is always great in theory but a disaster in practice.

Mallory and Robert are keeping the kids entertained (and keeping out of the way) so it’s Grace, Sol and Frankie versus Bud, Coyote and Brianna. And it’s all fun and games until some of them (the usual suspects) start taking it too seriously. Start lobbying insults back and forth about the incompetence of their teammates until Frankie declares it a draw and starts handing around snacks.

Coyote, who got caught in the crossfire and bore the brunt of the name-calling, is on the porch getting some air when Grace comes out to join him.

She leans against the railing beside him. Waits for a few minutes before talking. “I don’t think I ever said before, but I’m really proud of you, Coyote. It’s not easy to admit when you have a problem. It takes a lot of guts to face up to things the way you did. Real courage.”

Coyote looks at Grace like he’s trying to work out whether he’s imagined what she said. Like he’s suddenly seeing her for the first time - meeting the real Grace for the first time. He clears his throat and his voice trembles. “Thank you,” he chokes out. “That means more to me than you know.” He pulls her in for a bear hug and, to his surprise, she hugs back.

“You’re a good man, Coyote. The best. And a good son. I’m so glad that your mom has a son like you.” She gives him a final squeeze and pulls away, straightening the bottom of her sweater. Pats his cheek. “Come on, let’s go back in and join the Brady Bunch before someone decides it’s a good idea to play Monopoly.”

The family finally call it a night a few hours later, pulling on their coats and gathering up their gifts. It’s a flurry of hugs and ‘thank you’s and leftovers in cellophane. Of forgiveness and deep appreciation. Of love, above all else.

Coyote lingers at the end. Squeezes Frankie, kissing her cheek. “I just wanna say thanks, Mom. You did a really great job today and it’s been awesome.” He walks to Grace. Offers her a matching kiss on the cheek. “You, too, Mom.” Frankie doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to stop the happy tears from streaming down her cheeks.

* * *

Much, much later, Frankie and Grace sit in front of the last glowing coals in the fireplace, looking at the photograph album. Frankie’s head rests against Grace’s shoulder. Their feet are criss-crossed together on their shared ottoman.

Grace is pointing out the tiny details in the pictures. Things that might easily be overlooked. Fleshing out the context and bringing them to life for Frankie. She tells her about her lopsided hair cut. Her split lip. Her moon-shaped earrings. She wants to tell Frankie everything - to make her understand that for so many years she waited for a kind of acceptance that never came. That she was soft before she was sharp. Before she was cruel.  
  
Grace places her finger over a woman standing in the background of one of the earliest images. “That’s Sarah, my nanny. She used to read ‘Little Women’ to me over and over. I knew every word.” Grace smiles. “She raised me, really. And I loved her very much. But she caught tuberculosis and died a year or so after this was taken.” Grace bites her lip. “I couldn’t bear it. My mother only took on temporary nannies after that.” Frankie brushes away a tear from Grace’s eye. Kisses her temple.

All of a sudden, Grace laughs, spotting another photograph. “Look at those grass-stains! I can’t believe you found this.” She presses her lips to Frankie’s cheek. “When my relatives came to stay, my cousin Leonard and I used to spend hours by the lake with our make-shift fishing rods.” She giggles. “Believe it or not, I was very mischievous. They took this picture at the end of a church service. We’d snuck out of Sunday School to head to the water but we were caught before we even made it out of the churchyard. I fell over during the chase. Mother was livid but Papa found it hilarious.”

Grace lets out a deep sigh and Frankie takes her hand, tethering them together. She thinks Grace might need an anchor. “My parents were wonderful people - truly. They did their best, and I loved them, wholly.” She stares pensively at the next spread of images. “But I need you to understand that I was a very lonely child, Frankie. They sent me and my siblings to different boarding schools and I didn’t have many friends. You might not believe this but I was - I was shy and  _strange_ and easily upset. So I learnt to rely on myself and had to toughen up very quickly.”

Frankie studies Grace’s face - the one she’s seen change through time. Frankie loves Grace’s lines, as much as Grace might hate them. They tell their own story about who Grace is. What she’s survived. How she’s grown. Because Frankie’s known this face for decades - its ageless charm, its timeless glamour - but it’s gradually transformed into something softer and even more captivating. Even more irresistible. 

Her crow's feet are Frankie’s favourite. Her laugh lines. Because despite what people - _stupid_ people - people Frankie would like to take on in a fist fight - might think, Grace is someone with the capacity for so much joy. Someone who brings so much laughter, and she’s constantly laughing now. Who cracks Frankie up without even speaking. Who splits her sides more than anyone. Grace is witty and bubbly and Frankie is happy to see evidence of that in her features. Evidence that the sorrow and stasis that she felt for so many years might have been part of her life but were by no means all of it.

Frankie locks eyes with Grace. Points to Grace’s chest, just over her sternum. “Can you tell little Grace for me that when she’s slightly senile and a bit worn around the edges, she’s gonna be the bravest, most amazing human on the planet? That she already is?” Grace folds into Frankie’s arms and Frankie hugs her tenderly, running soothing hands down her back. “Can you let her know that she’s never gonna feel alone again because a kooky eccentric with a killer vibe loves her with her whole heart?”

Grace rests her forehead against Frankie’s, letting a few more tears fall. Tears for all the times she wished for someone just like the woman next to her. Someone who listened, and comforted, and gave her the freedom to be herself. “ _T_ _hank you_ , Frankie.”

Then Frankie kisses Grace and she feels like she’s cherishing hundreds of Grace’s. Meeting each of them. The tiny Grace with her wooden plane. The child Grace who feels lost and afraid. The teenage Grace, with flowing hair and ruby lips. The adult Grace, who she knew and never really saw. And  _her_ Grace, who is lights, and snowfalls, and warm summer breezes. Because they’re _all_ her Grace, and she worships every one. 

And Frankie knows that any price - any cost necessary in her own life to get here - she would have agreed to pay. Forty years worth of living in an adequate but static marriage. Static lies. Five weeks of wounding separation. An almost lifetime of just enoughs. Because this  _love_ \- this is why people write poems on the backs of matchboxes. Why they dance in the streets and sing in the steeples. Why skywriting became a thing.

And because when she kisses Grace - this mesmerising, exasperating woman - this woman who most people (again, _idiots_ ) see as cold, or callous - they almost always end up smiling. And they do.


	3. Spring

Frankie marches in to the living room, straight over to where Grace is sitting, and they’re fighting before either of them fully realises it’s happening. Before either of them can hit the pause button and take a breath. And this argument does not feel familiar and light-hearted like their other disputes - is not well-trodden like their favourite beach path. This feels like claws and blood and brimstone. Like an out-of-control bush fire.

Because Frankie is livid - all guns blazing - panting from the volcanic storm that’s erupting in her chest. It’s clear that she’s on the warpath and Grace grips the sides of the armchair, trying to get her bearings. Is stunned into silence when Frankie seethes, “I’m not even gonna dignify my entrance with a ‘hello’.”

Frankie, on the other hand, is just getting started. Cannot stop the anger that rolls from her tongue like magma. “Were you planning on telling me that Jacob called here and left me a voicemail asking me to meet for coffee? Or were you just hoping that I wouldn’t run in to him at the Farmer’s Market, which -  _guess what_ \- is exactly what happened.”

Grace’s eyes are wide, like a wolf caught in a trap. Like they’re watching a witch trial in progress. She stammers, “Frankie, I - ”

Frankie interjects before Grace can regain her footing. “Don’t even bother to answer that with an excuse because I don’t wanna hear it. And before you even suggest it, no, we can’t shelve this for later. I’d rather chew glass than talk about this again.” She balls her hands into fists and tries to harden her voice against the tears that are threatening to double-cross her. “How fucking  _dare_ you delete the message - because I know that you did. No one else would have the gall.”

A heavy silence falls before Grace rips through it. And Frankie knows Grace was stalling because she’s folded her arms and stiffened her jaw. Knows exactly which side of Grace is coming. And she’s right, because Grace speaks icily. “Fine, then. Sue me for not wanting to invite the Santa Fe fiasco back in to our lives.”

Frankie looks dumbfounded. Still feels the betrayal of it all creeping through her arteries and clogging up her heart. “ _The Santa Fe fiasco_ ? Are you fucking kidding me, Grace? Have I stepped on to the set of Dallas? Because you cannot be for real right now.”

Grace huffs, straightening her spine and standing as upright as her joints will allow. “Oh, quit being so dramatic! I made a mistake! But I made it because you’re impulsive, Frankie. You’re gung-ho about everything and you don’t always think rationally before doing things.”

“Well, gee-whiz, fucking thank you, Guru Hanson.”

Grace is getting agitated but she also feels guilty at that. Can’t seem to keep her mind clear enough to wrestle back any coherent thought. “I didn’t mean - ”

“Oh, I think it’s pretty obvious what you meant. I got the message loud and clear. Ironically.” She looks at Grace with a stony glare.

“I’m no good at this!” Grace is shouting now, desperately trying to clutch back a climbing hold. A semblance of reason. 

“Well then, get good!” Frankie is beyond fuming, pacing back and forth like a wounded bear.

Grace takes a minute. Speaks more softly, cursing the emotions that make her tongue feel like a stranger’s. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I just - I don’t see why we need to complicate things. I thought about what it might mean for us and it _f_ _rightened me_ , are you happy? Big Bad Grace Hanson did something stupid because she was  _frightened_ .” Her posture is still rigid but she’s sniffing furiously and swatting at her eyes.

“Do you not have a brain underneath all that hairspray? Is that hat I bought you too tight?” Frankie sighs, bracing herself on the edge of the couch. “I mean, did it not occur to you that I _left_ Jacob to be here? To be with _you_? That I’m in love with _you?_ ” She gawks. “In what world would coffee lead to me donning a bindle, mounting the nearest yak and heading off into the sunset with someone else? _Jesus_ , Grace!”

“But it’s not just _someone else_ , Frankie!” Grace defends, sticking out her chin and gesturing wildly. “It’s _Jacob_. And he’s back, and I almost - I almost _lost_ you once. I just - ”

“Oh my god, Grace.  _Oh my god_. Are you kidding me? Do you not know that you’re it for me? The real deal? The fucking be all and end all?” The anger is slowly draining from her voice and it’s giving way to sadness. Maybe disappointment. “Do you not know that I can’t even  _bear_ the thought of living without you? How could you not get that? Not trust in that?”

“I _know_ that, I do,” Grace pleads, quietly, as if her words might shatter the air. “And I trust that. I trust _you_. I just don’t always trust myself.” She manages a self-deprecating laugh. “That I can be enough. I’m so sorry.” Her voice wavers all the way through and Frankie feels like her heart is snapping in half. Swirling down a plughole. Because she gets it, she does. Knows all too well the fear of losing what they’ve worked so hard to build together.

The fury has dissipated now and Frankie’s overwhelmed. Feels like too many of her senses are suddenly working overtime. She takes a step towards the porch - needs to feel the cool air on her face. To see the water.

Grace’s tiny voice tiptoes out. A broken sound. A sound of poorly veiled fear. “Are you - are you  _leaving_?”

And then Frankie stalks across the room with intention. With no hint of uncertainty. She takes Grace’s hand and kisses the back of it, soothing the trembling fingers with her own. “ _Of course not_ , you gorgeous loon. This is a fight, not a finale. I just need a minute, okay?” 

She presses a reverent promise against Grace’s forehead. “I love you. I kinda hate you right now, sure. But  _I love you_. I’ll be right back.” And then she’s out of the door, sliding off her clogs and padding barefoot to the ocean. She centres herself. Consults Joanne. Meditates with the waves.

When she returns, she finds Grace huddled up on the couch - a mess of tear-stains and remorse. Walks over. Settles beside her and opens her arms. “Come here, baby.” Grace curls herself into Frankie’s embrace and sobs against her neck.

“I’m sorry, Frankie. I’m so fucking _sorry_.” Frankie can see the honesty in her eyes and she dips her head slightly, acknowledging Grace’s words. “I just - I thought about what my life might be like without shopping cart races and vagina portraits and crumbs in our bed. Without your tangled hair and your morning breath kisses and your freezing toes. Without ever holding you again,” Grace sniffs, stifling a sob with her hand. “And I _know_ what it would be like, because I lived it once and I barely survived it the first time.”

Frankie hugs Grace more firmly, until she can feel Grace’s heartbeat in communion with her own. Grace carries on. “But I had no right to delete that message. Because I did delete it. I know you know that, but in the spirit of honesty. I heard his voice and I  _remembered_ and I panicked. I just panicked.” Grace draws strength from Frankie’s protective hold. 

“But I know that it wasn’t okay. That I shouldn’t have interfered. That it was a terrible thing to do. The _worst_ , because I went behind your back, and I _hurt_ you, which is the last thing I ever want to do. And I’m so, _truly_ , sorry for that.” Speaks in a voice that’s so small it’s barely audible. “I love you more than anything and I just hope you can forgive me.”

And Frankie is angry again, but not with Grace. Never,  _really_ , with Grace. She’s angry because she knows that no one has ever told Grace that it’s okay to fuck up. To fail. That Grace - quirky (because she _is_ quirky) and complicated and maddening as she is - deserves to be loved unconditionally. Deserves as many chances as it takes for her to realise that.

Frankie laces their fingers together. Smiles kindly at Grace, who is draped over her lap. “Yeah, it was kind of fucked. Without the ‘kind of’ - I added that in for comic effect. And yeah, you were kind of an asshole. Again with the ‘kind of’.” Frankie wipes the tears from under Grace’s puffy eyes, which is mainly futile because they are still coming. “But so what you fucked up? So what? It happens. Welcome to being human.”

Frankie rubs Grace’s kneecap. “You’re _my_ asshole, Gracie Groo, and I know you meant well in your own, ass-backwards, half-baked, little way. So it’s okay - really. Just don’t keep things from me again, deal?”

Grace can’t bring herself to speak yet, still sniffing and biting her bottom lip, but she nods and Frankie continues.

Frankie shuffles until they are nose to nose - until she can look right into Grace’s dewy eyes. “Now you just listen to me. I’ve lived that life, too, Sweetheart. Lived through it, too. And let me tell you - my life ain’t shit without you, Grace Hanson.” She kisses her temple.

“I’m so, so fucking in love with you, get that? Hell or high water, remember? You’re stuck with me. I’m right where I want to be, and I’m not going anywhere. Except maybe to the beach to get friendly with some reefer.” Frankie grins, wiggling her eyebrows. Rubs the tips of their noses together. “Care to join me?”

Grace laughs and it’s the best sound Frankie’s heard all day. Wraps her arms around Frankie’s neck and kisses her like she’s breathing life back into a dream. Pours all of her love and relief into her caresses. Feels like Frankie is filling her mouth with flowers. 

When they part, Grace helps Frankie up. Offers her a blissful smile. “Do you still hate me?”

Frankie cackles, nudging Grace’s hip with her own. “Not even a smidgen, partner.”

They finally make it to the sand, hands twined together. They joke, and bicker, and draw shapes with their toes as they share drags of Frankie’s “herbal heaven”. The argument, like the spirals of fruity smoke, floats away on the breeze.

* * *

Grace went out with Brianna and Mallory last night and Frankie finds her in the kitchen when she finally rises. She’s spreading cream cheese onto a bagel and Frankie marvels at how Grace can make something so simple - so routine - so sublime to watch. Her movements are so precise - so elegant. And they happen to clash, quite hilariously, with Grace’s current state.

Frankie chuckles, winding her willowy arms around Grace from behind. Hugs her tightly. “How are you feeling this morning, Sunshine?” She’s smirking, but fortunately Grace can’t see her expression.

Grace lets out a noise like a mewling cat. “ _Ugh_. Not too peachy. Someone plied me with a vineyard’s worth of red wine last night and I think maybe even a shot of sambuca.” She groans. “The details are fuzzy, but I’m  _pretty_ sure it was me.” She looks a little green in the face and Frankie laughs, nuzzling her cheek.

“I’ve had two showers and I still smell like a distillery.” Frankie turns her around slowly, careful not to make any sudden, hurl-inducing, movements. Smoothes away the crease between Grace’s eyebrows with her thumbs.

“Nah, you smell wonderful. Now go sit on the couch and I’ll make you some peppermint tea. Yeah, I know you hate it, but you need it.” She warms Grace’s earlobe with the press of her lips and then steers her shoulders towards a seat.

So Grace sits with her feet curled at her side and nibbles at the bagel half-heartedly. From the position that her legs are resting in, Frankie can see the tiny crescent moon on her anklebone peeking out from beneath her silky pajamas. Grins uncontrollably. Frankie snickers, thinking back to how it got there. 

> It starts out as a stupid wager. Frankie bets Grace that she’ll beat her at the obstacle race they’ve organised on the beach for the kids and Grace is so sure she’ll win she suggests the most ludicrous forfeit she can imagine: getting a tattoo.
> 
> They make it to the final lap of the course - the egg and spoon race - and any initial camaraderie has fallen by the wayside, bowing beneath their competitive spirits. 
> 
> Frankie starts the stretch by yelling, “Last one to the flag is a rotten eggplant,” but, to her absolute horror, Grace has soon picked up the pace, overtaking her.
> 
> “Catch me if you can, Slow Poke,” Grace chuckles, now a good few steps ahead. Macklin and Maddy are in the lead by a landslide but Grace can’t resist teasing Frankie, who is getting more and more frustrated. 
> 
> “Cut it out, Grace! You’re being a meanie,” Frankie whines, kicking up sand as she tries to catch up. Grace turns her head to throw Frankie a silly face. Spots Frankie covering the egg with her hand. Laughs.
> 
> “Frankie! Holding the egg is definitely against the rules! Let go of it!”
> 
> Frankie scowls. Narrows her eyes. “Fine, here I am, letting go of it.” She hurls it at Grace’s shoulder. Apparently, in the chaos of the morning, no one bothered to hard boil them first. It drips down Grace’s white polo shirt. Leaves a sticky yellow trail. 
> 
> Grace turns, mouth agape. Manages to hold back from cursing at Frankie in front of the grandkids. The little ones are still running but Grace and Frankie have stopped dead in their tracks, glaring at each other from a few feet apart. “What the hell, Frankie? Have you totally lost your mind?” Grace clenches her fists. “You know what? Try this on for size.” Launches her own gooey missile at Frankie’s chest.
> 
> Frankie is slow to realise what’s happening but her eyes eventually glance down at her kaftan, then across at Grace. She takes in their appearance - both covered in yolk and shell and gloop. An eggy mess. She tries to look irritated but cannot stifle the laughter that floats out of her throat like a happy riptide. Grace, too, surrenders to the hilarity of it all. The absurdity. So they stand on the beach - a gunky shambles - looking ridiculous and giggling like nut jobs.
> 
> The kids have long since finished the contest and run back over to the pair, joining in with the silliness. Maddy clings to Frankie’s legs - her tiny shadow - and Macklin fist-bumps Grace. Rests his forehead against her middle. Brianna wanders over, shaking her head. “I love you guys, but you are both idiots. And both mega disqualified.”
> 
> “Hear that, Hanson? Put your money where your mouth is! You lost the bet.” Frankie pumps her fists in the air, wiggling from side to side.
> 
> Grace chortles. “Nah, uh - you didn’t win either. You’re getting one, too.” Frankie’s mouth falls open, her litany of exclamations momentarily frozen. Because, to her great shock, Grace is not ducking out of their deal. Not coming up with a thousand reasons not to go through with it.
> 
> “Yeah?” Frankie smiles, reaching out her hand in invitation.
> 
> “ _Yeah_ ,” Grace nods, grabbing Frankie’s fingers and squeezing them softly.
> 
> So that’s what they do, and really, Frankie reasons, if they’re not going to do something spontaneous at this point in their lives, they might as well be dust and rubble. 
> 
> They decide opposite ankles are their safest bet - somewhere that won’t sag too much as the years carve more marks into them. Somewhere secret, but not too secret. Somewhere that shows their intention: to always walk side by side. They don’t match - that’s too high school for them. Too insincere anyway, since their bearers differ in almost every way. But they complement each other - a moon and a sun. Grace luminous and sensual, turning the tides. Frankie ablaze and effulgent, helping things to grow.

Frankie sets down a generous mug of coffee and some Tylenol next to Grace’s half-finished bagel. Folds into her, eating a cupcake.

“Do you wanna share?” She brings the treat up to Grace’s mouth. Succeeds in getting frosting all over her nose.

Grace makes a valiant attempt to appear annoyed but she caves, giggling at Frankie’s antics. She can never stay mad at Frankie for long. Or at all, these days.

Frankie is absentmindedly licking icing from the back of her own hand and then she leans forward, kissing the rest from Grace’s face. It’s leisurely, and tranquil, and Frankie feels like she’s floating along on a cloud. Like each of her two hundred and six low-density bones are melting into a serene puddle of mush.

“Ooh, that reminds me!” Frankie shouts. “Sol and Robert are having a spring shindig and I’ve said we’ll help set up.” She takes another bite. Speaks with a mouth full of cupcake. “I’m sorry, you know I’m extremely susceptible to guilt.”

Grace looks slightly baffled, still sucking sugar from her lips. “How did you get from frosting to hosting?” She quirks an eyebrow. “Switching the ‘fr’ to ‘h’?”

“No, although that also makes sense.” Frankie clicks her tongue. “Frosting - cakes - birthday parties - spring party,” she explains, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s really pretty straightforward logic.”

Grace sighs. “I’m sure.” Takes the pills with a gulp of coffee. “What do you have to feel guilty about anyway?”

“It was Robert who asked me. I guess I felt bad that his proclivity for penis means that the poor son-of-a-gun has to listen to Sol go on and on about fly-fishing and bunion pads, meanwhile I get to get busy with his ex-wife who’s the most smokin’ creature this side of Neptune.” She chuckles. “He definitely got the raw end of that deal, if you ask me. What a schmuck.”

Grace knocks her head against Frankie’s arm, laughing. “Oh,  _shush_.”

“It’s just a fact! Anyway, come here. Let me rub your shoulders,” Frankie offers, moving her hands like pincers. Grace smiles gratefully and twists to make it easier.

Frankie smoothes her fingers across Grace’s neck. Works out the tough knots. Pays special attention to the freckles that look like dustings of cocoa powder or tiny fairy footprints at the top of her back.

“I forgot to mention - don’t be mad - the party is tomorrow.” Grace groans so deeply Frankie feels it vibrating through her skin.

* * *

They are across the room from each other as they circulate, greeting the other guests and making polite small talk. Or at least Grace is - Frankie’s mainly trying to intercept entrees on their way out. They shoot each other smiles and eye rolls and knowing glances. Once or twice a flashed tongue.

Grace is distracted by their little exchanges and that’s how she ends up toe to toe with the wife of Robert’s old golfing buddy. Laurel fucking Stanwick. She’s chair of the women’s tennis club, a permanent feature in San Diego’s ritziest bars, and an insufferable narcissist. Grace just about makes it through a tête-à-tête about Laurel’s newest Porsche when the conversation shifts uncomfortably.

“So, Thomas tells me that you’re with someone now, too. Who is the lucky man?”

“Yes,” Grace nods, curtly. “Her name is Frankie.” She detests talking to Laurel about this but she can’t help but trip over Frankie’s name. The wonder of saying it out loud is still amazing to her. Still brings her so much joy.

“Oh,” Laurel straightens, pulling her stole at the ends and sending Grace a tight smile. “Well, how wonderful. Is she here?”

Grace gestures over to the buffet table. It’s busy, but Frankie stands out to her like an emerald in the sand. Not because of her clothes, or mannerisms, or wild hair. But because she somehow shines brighter than anyone else. Glows. Grace thinks she’d be able to find her from space. Find her home.

“ _Her_ ?” Laurel remarks, overt disbelief coating her voice. Any attempts at nonchalant acceptance are failing miserably. “The one eating part of the display?”

“ _Her_ ,” Grace replies. Once again aims for sharpness but sounds more like she’s in awe. “Excuse me. There’s somewhere else I’d rather be.” Grace may have cut down on her snide remarks towards Frankie and the family, but they do have their uses. She’s reserved them for small-minded egotists.

She makes a beeline for Frankie - the offbeat woman who sticks out like a sore thumb amidst the throngs of socialites in formal suits and cocktail dresses. Top litigators drenched in permascowls and acidity. She’s wearing the necklace Grace made for her in the ceramics class Frankie dragged her to - little blue beads lining the hollow of her beautiful throat. And the clogs that Grace  _specifically_ asked her not to wear but can’t help smiling at now.

Because for her, _it’s still Frankie_. Is still Frankie when she starts a fire on the stove trying to melt candle wax. Still Frankie when she breaks Grace’s best vase playing Bulldog with Macklin. When she accidentally dyes Grace’s dress shirt an unfortunate shade of green. When she puts back empty cartons in the fridge. Makes Grace blush like a radish. It will _always_ be Frankie.

And so Grace doesn’t care that they are the oddest pair there. That Grace is in a velvet couture dress, cut low in the back, and Frankie is in a thrifted rainbow muumuu that’s somehow billowing without wind. Doesn’t care that she always hated public displays of affection and that they’re surrounded by prying eyes. Because she’s already been away from Frankie at this stuffy gathering for too long.

She reaches Frankie, whose whole face radiates like their motion sensor porch light when she finally registers that Grace is beside her. Wraps her arms around Frankie’s waist and brings their lips together without a second thought. 

Frankie winds her fingers through Grace’s soft hair, stroking her scalp gently. They migrate to the patch of flesh that lies open on Grace’s back. Trace every vertebra of her spine like they’re playing a sacred instrument. It’s not quite as chaste as Grace initially intended, but she doesn’t waver. Meets Frankie’s fervent ministrations with equal devotion. Feels the life flooding back into her synapses.

Grace completes the kiss, resting her hands on Frankie’s shoulders. She can see Laurel and a few other uptight braggarts from the corner of her eye and she briefly notes their awkward glances. Can sense their disapproval. But she feels no regret, only a stirring smugness in her belly. Because Frankie is  _hers_ to kiss and those puffed up articles - those dreary bores that she used to blend in with so effortlessly - don’t know what they’re missing. How proud she is to be the person Frankie loves. How  _ecstatic_.

Grace beams at her and tenderly wipes the lipstick from Frankie’s swollen mouth. Smirks playfully. Her voice is rich with adoration. “Honey, you know these fruits are supposed to be decorative, right?” She turns her head and offers a nod towards the basket behind them.

Frankie doesn’t question their impromptu make-out session, though Grace’s lack of inhibition throws her for a loop. Fills her entire body with confetti and streamers. She lets it be. Frankie looks at Grace and throws her a roguish grin. Winks. “So what, Baby Doll?” She chuckles. “A grape’s a grape.” She shoves another one into her mouth and then presses a sticky kiss to Grace’s cheek.

Because for her, _it’s still Grace_. Is still Grace when she nags Frankie fifteen times a day about her diet. Still Grace when she knocks a martini over onto Frankie’s laptop and fries the motherboard. When she compulsively rearranges the contents of the house so Frankie can’t find anything. When she fusses. Makes Frankie question her own sanity. _I_ _t’s never not going to be Grace_.

So she grabs Grace’s hand, running her thumb over the back of it. “Come on, Girl. Let’s blow this joint.” She chortles. “Figuratively, of course, but when we get back probably literally.” And Grace’s laughter carries them all the way out of the house.


	4. Summer

It's a warm night and the moon hangs low in the sky, casting silver ribbons across the surface of the ocean. Frankie can taste the salt from the air as she licks her lips, sighing into the breeze. Grace is beside her - their sun loungers pulled together long ago - and they are stargazing. Pointing out their favourite constellations and making up their own.

“That one there is a mongoose eating an egg,” Frankie insists, swirling her arms up and pointing to the heavens. “I’m calling it Gertrude.”

Grace isn’t sure that she can spot the shape in question but she grins, nodding her head. “Gertrude it is. I hope she’s having a good time up there.”

Frankie shoots her a look out of the corner of her eye. Smiles at her with adoration. She’s well aware that Grace can hardly see without her glasses, let alone find the pattern of stars she’s talking about. But she listens to Frankie anyway. _Makes an effort anyway_. And it makes Frankie feel appreciated like she never has. Feel treasured. 

Because for them, intimacy isn’t just skin on skin. It’s secret handshakes and silly passwords. Snoring. It’s sharing toothpaste and blankets and body heat. Even when it’s too hot. Even when someone’s too cold. It’s foot rubs and sick days with clammy palms and grumpy mumbles. It’s eating the burnt slice of toast or over-poached egg. It’s shared straws and traded bites and battling all new kinds of neuroses. Battling folie à deux. 

It’s compromise and giving more than expected - going above and beyond or meeting somewhere in the middle. Sometimes falling short, but picking up the slack. It’s hard work and easiness - the madness and the calm. It’s nighttime drool and accidental scratches and sleep dust - and _wanting_ those things. Wanting them most of all. It’s a delicious medley of contradictions that keeps them on their toes.

Before Frankie has time to summon the right words and voice these thoughts, Grace pats her hand. Moves in front of her and helps her to her feet. “Come on, let’s take a little walk. Maybe dip our toes in the water.”

So they do, strolling hand in hand with their jeans rolled up to their calves. Frankie’s tempted to splash Grace but she doesn’t want to break the gentleness of the ramble. The sense that she might be gliding along on the waves. That she’s grown a beanstalk with some magic legumes and found Grace at the top.

When they circle back, approaching the house, Frankie suddenly stands stock-still. Squeezes Grace’s warm fingers tightly. The porch is lit up with fairy lights and lanterns, the strings of glowing orbs arching over the pop-up yellow tent that sits like a nest in the middle. Grace watches Frankie’s face break into a blissful beam. Tugs her up the last few steps of the path.

“Happy Anniversary, Frankie Fromage,” Grace chirps, kissing her knuckles. Frankie pulls her giddily and they stumble through the flap together, giggling when they land in an uncomfortable heap against the foam mattress. They shift positions slightly, stretching their creaky limbs (which will hopefully forgive them tomorrow). 

And Grace doesn’t care that Frankie’s managed to get half of the beach in there with them. Doesn’t mind the small space, because it’s a small space with a Frankie. They lie tangled on the soft cushions and Frankie’s small, sweet puffs of breath send ripples down Grace’s spine.

“I wanted to take you somewhere, but travelling seemed complicated. So I thought I’d bring the vacation to us. The kids helped me to set it up.” She laughs. “Coyote said I’d probably get lucky tonight - before his brain caught up to who that would be with and he turned beetroot.” Grace runs her palm over Frankie’s cheek. “It’s not the Bahamas but I hope you like it. I’m sorry that we’re just at home.”

Frankie gazes back at her, eyes teeming with tears. “Honey, it’s _perfect_. And even if we were pitched up on the side of a mountain in Bhutan, or suspended over a waterfall in Peru, you’re my home. You’re the only adventure I need.” She brings her forehead to rest against Grace’s. “I’ve waited a long time to feel as free as I do right now.”

Grace moves even closer, until there's no space left between them, before speaking. “This year has been the happiest of my life, Frankie. I really mean that. You make me so nauseatingly, hair-pullingly, deliriously _happy_.” Grace lifts Frankie’s face and covers her precious lips with her own. Thanks her with delicate strokes of her tongue. 

They nestle together, watching the shadows sway on the roof above them. Communicate in silence until Grace finally whispers, her words tripping out like amateur ice-skaters. “Do you believe in karma?”

Frankie studies her, trying to get a handle on where this conversation is coming from. “Yeah, sometimes. In some forms. Why?”

Grace snags her lip between her teeth, chewing it emphatically. “Then why haven’t I come back as a toad yet?”

Frankie can’t help but let out a chuckle at that, rubbing Grace’s arm affectionately. “Okay, first off, I think you’re shooting for reincarnation. Totally different concept, right there.” She taps Grace’s nose. “But why would you think you’re coming back as a toad? Which I can only assume you consider to be a bad thing, even though - side note - toads are rad.”

Grace sighs, not sure how best to arrange her words. Tries anyway. “Because I feel like this is too good to be true. Like I haven’t atoned for all my sins but have somehow ended up with the greatest blessing there is.” She looks down. “Because before everything changed I was _mean_ , Frankie. I was mean to everyone. To _you_. Because that person - who doesn’t even seem like she was _me_ anymore - was _horrible_. There’s no way to make up for that.”

“Hey, you listen here, Missy. _You_ were never horrible. I mean, yeah, maybe some of your actions left a lot to be desired, but you were unhappy. Hurting. And that was the pain talking - the years of loneliness and inertia. Of keeping up appearances.” Frankie pinches some of her hair between her fingers and uses it to tickle Grace’s cheek. “ _You_ are utterly divine, all the way through. I won’t hear another word otherwise.”

She presses her mouth to Grace’s forehead, leaving the lightest of pecks behind. “Plus, even if the ‘karma’ beast is coming for you, we spent forty years married to two guys who were more interested in screwing each other. I think you’ve more than served your time, don’t you?”

Frankie rolls on to her side and holds Grace’s forearms, which instinctively twine around her waist and pull her back against Grace’s warm body. Runs her fingertips over the soft, freckled skin.

Grace grins, taking a second to soak up the comfort she feels from having Frankie so close. Dips her nose into fruity locks. “How do you always know exactly the right thing to say?” Her voice captures how mesmerised she is. How astonished and elated. Because Frankie is her _best friend_ and it still floors her that she doesn’t have to censor herself. Watch what she lets slip. That she can tell Frankie anything and never fear humiliation or rejection. 

“Easy,” Frankie smirks, “I just crank the dial way up on my Grace-speak and mix that with the fact that I’m totally gaga for you. Works a charm.” She pauses, turning to brush back Grace’s shiny fringe. “You should cut toads some slack though. They get a bad rap.”

Grace laughs. Nods. “Okay, toads can be in my good books. But I’m not putting nits in there, which incidentally got me the last time I was in one of these things.” She shudders, automatically running her hand through her hair.

“Well, you can relax, Miss Squeamish. That was a den, not a tent. And anyway I’m hurt. Why didn't those little creatures wanna shack up in my gorgeous mane?”

Grace chuckles, and there’s a glint in her eyes. “Honestly I’m surprised birds haven’t flown out of there yet.”

Frankie tuts, rolling half-over and scrunching up her face at Grace. Only succeeds in looking like Maddy when she’s sulking. Grace takes pity on her, kissing her shoulder. “I’m only kidding, Darling. I _love_ your hair, you know that. It’s beautiful. _You’re_ beautiful.”

Grace leans over her and smiles radiantly. It’s so honest, and true, and Frankie can feel it in her toes. Frankie suddenly covers her face with her hands and the air shifts around them, becoming more solemn. More charged somehow, like heavy pins and needles. 

It starts slow, like the ebb of a steady stream, but Grace gradually becomes aware that Frankie is shaking. She reaches down and peels back Frankie’s fingers, face etched with worry. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to - ” Frankie shakes her head, effectively cutting Grace off. Her usual mega-watt grin looks in need of a bulb change. Tears collect in her eyes and drip from the edge of her cheek.

Grace manoeuvres herself carefully so she’s facing Frankie from the opposite side. She leaves a little room between them, in case Frankie wants space, but the other woman is soon buried against her collarbone, clutching her like she’s trying to eliminate the atoms separating them.

Frankie’s low, laboured drawl cartwheels out. “What if veggies and vitamins and low-sodium casseroles aren’t enough, Grace? What if it’s not enough?”

Soothing hands dance across Frankie’s back and neck, scribing slow circles against the fabric of her shirt. “Honey, I’m pretty sure I saw you eat two tacos for lunch.” Grace’s light humour earns her a brief smile but seems to make Frankie even more distressed.

“It just hit me,” Frankie sobs, barely discernibly. “That I might not be around to hold your hand at Maddy’s baseball games and throw flour at you when we bake cupcakes with Macklin. And I’m _scared_. I know I said I wasn’t, but I am.”

She takes a deep breath. Fails at steadying her voice. “I wasn’t before, not really, because I’ve had my life, and I’ve loved it. But now I want _our_ life. I want to give you that. There’s _so much_ that I still want to give you.” Her weepy hiccups fill the tent. Settle in the pit of Grace’s stomach.

“No, you just listen to me.” Grace speaks with such conviction that her words are almost stern, even as they do nothing to conceal her thick emotions. She rubs Frankie’s sternum with one palm and cradles her tenderly with the other. “You’ve given me _everything_ , Sweetheart. I’ve already lived more this year than I have my whole life. Felt more alive than I ever have. More myself. As long as you keep loving me, however long we have left, that’s all I need. Whatever happens, I’m going to be right here.”  


She presses her lips to Frankie’s mouth and then holds her face, smiling into Frankie’s eyes. “And when our day comes, because I’m gonna be right behind you, they’ll put us in one big ol’ casket. I’ll wear your clogs and you’ll wear my power suit, and then they’ll mix up our ashes and sprinkle them into the ocean. And we’ll have hundreds of adventures - hanging out with mermaids and spying on pirates. Watering plants and swimming with dolphins. And you can say hi to all those lobsters you set free.”

Frankie finally laughs, then, wiping her eyes. “Do you promise?” Grace kisses every part of Frankie that she can reach - her eyelids, her temple, her collarbone. Tucks promises everywhere so that there can be no doubt about how seriously she means them.

“I _promise_. But that’s not going to be for decades, Frankie, because I won’t let you leave me. And we both know I’m stubborn as hell and I always get my way. And so do you.” Grace pulls the covers more tightly around them, creating a safe cocoon. “Trust me, we’re going to be having the same argument about dijon mustard until the next ice age.”

She tickles Frankie’s arm as Frankie listens to her words. “I’m scared, too, _baby_. None of us know what’s going to happen tomorrow. But I do know that today, and every day - alive or otherwise - we’ll face together. This is just the beginning for us - I know it.” She sniffs, holding her own tears at bay. “You said once that I make you feel strong, but you’re the bravest person I know, Honey. You have more faith in me than I’ve ever had in myself and you make me brave. So we’ll be scared and brave, _together_.”

Frankie wraps her arms around Grace’s neck. Rests her cheek against Grace’s. Feels illuminated from the inside out by such unwavering devotion. “Seems like you always know the right thing to say, too, huh?” She’s beaming, and Grace can tell because she can feel Frankie’s teeth against her jawline. “I love you, Grace. So mind-bogglingly much. And I’m sorry that I busted out the waterworks on our anniversary.”

“Hey, you don’t ever have to apologise for that, okay?” Grace kisses Frankie’s damp cheek. Twirls a curl around her fingers. “And I love you, too. Now how about we head inside and get ready for bed before coming back here so that camping’s a little less itchy?”

Frankie smiles, scrambling to help Grace up. “Sounds like a plan. You’re full of good ones tonight, though I’m not sure that I’ll fit into your power suit.” She links her arm through Grace’s, leaning her head against a tall shoulder. Looks up at her cheekily. Winks. “You’ll be happy to know, Coyote was right.” She skips ahead into the house and Grace’s shoulders bounce with laughter as she follows behind.

* * *

Frankie careens through the double doors holding an array of objects that are hitting the floor one by one as she bustles forward. Grace turns her head at the commotion, eyeing the bouncing items and Bud’s cringing face. “Grace! Grace, guess what!” Frankie leans over the back of the couch where Grace is sitting and presses an enthusiastic kiss to her lips. Bud watches their interaction, smiling.

“They had a half-off sale at the cheese cart. Can you _believe_ it?” Bud darts around behind them, trying to safely recover the wheels of Edam and Halloumi that are strewn everywhere. Grace can only hope that none have rolled under the furniture to be found another day.

Frankie puts the rest of the cheese down on the table and Grace takes her hands. Pulls Frankie towards her. Brushes her lips over the thin, blue veins that line the backs. “That’s awesome, Sweetheart. _Really_.”

That earns her a satisfied grin. Frankie brings Grace’s hands to her own mouth to kiss before she pulls back, clapping hers together. Her rings jingle like sleigh bells. “Bud, wait there a sec! I have something for you.” She hurries off to her studio to retrieve the offending item.

Grace watches the back of the scurrying woman. Observes the swing of Frankie’s step. The skirt that bobs around her ankles. And Grace isn’t sure if she believes in fate - doesn’t know whether the universe willed her and Frankie together. Doesn’t know if it was their maddening exes, their meddling kids, or the wind that insisted on showing her Frankie’s breathtaking hair. But whatever it was that tipped the balance - that sent her hurtling full force into a love this all-consuming and overwhelming and _serene_ \- she feels indebted to. Feels so, indescribably, lucky. 

Because whether or not it was written in the stars - an accident or divine intervention - nothing - _nothing_ \- could ever be more right. Make her so boundlessly grateful. And she hopes that in every universe - in every parallel galaxy (or whatever it is that Frankie rattles on about) - their counterparts find their own beach house havens. End up side by side.

Because her life, which used to be a repeated procession of ‘fine’, now teems with happiness. With ‘too much’, that isn’t really too much at all. Sets off Disney fireworks shows inside her chest. Parades. Frankie has thrown paint and sticky handprints all over her tidy life - turned everything upside down - and yet it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense. 

Because love, she’s come to realise, is _meant_ to be chaotic. To knock you off your feet and then dust you down as it lifts you back on to them, steadier than before. To send your neurons whizzing in a million and one directions. Is meant to break your heart open to make it bigger. And Grace embraces the glorious mess, now. Thrives in it.

Frankie appears with one of her latest creations - a papier-mâché bust of Bob Marley. Holds it out eagerly to Bud. “Here! I thought you could put it on your desk at work!”

Grace places a finger beneath her nose, trying not to laugh at Bud’s face. He takes the offering, not quite sure where to focus his gaze. “ _Wow_ … I mean - thanks, Mom, yeah, I’ll - ” He turns the object in his hands. Winces, but manages to smile at Frankie. “I’ll _absolutely_ do that.”

“Ooh!” Frankie spins around again, heading back in the same direction. “I almost forgot his hat!” Her exaggerated run is a sight to behold.

Bud and Grace stand there in Frankie’s wake. Wear identical looks of amusement. Bud casts a final glance at the sculpture and then grins, peering sideways at Grace. “She really loves you, you know? You’re all she talked about the whole ride back.”

Grace beams. Offers him a watery nod. Brings her hand to her chest and marvels at how something she already knows - knows with her whole being - still takes her breath away.

“I love her, too,” she gushes, breathing deeply. Throws him a conspiratorial glance. “And if you could keep that thing and just stash it in a drawer somewhere, but make sure to pull it out when she next swings by, I’ll give you $50.”

* * *

They’ve just returned from a pottery class (which Grace has to admit she found soothing). They sit on their new porch swing, watching the fairy lights that Frankie repurposed and strung up across the frame.

Frankie fiddles with a tiny piece of clay as they once again contemplate the stars. She’s twitchy, popping her lips to what Grace can only assume is meant to be the tune of ‘Umbrella’.

“That song’s a little out of season, don’t you think?”

Frankie leaves her reverie. Looks at Grace open-mouthed. “Kid, Rihanna is always in season.”

“Okay, I stand corrected.” Grace goes on, placing a comforting hand on Frankie’s knee. “What’s bothering you, Honey?”

Frankie remains quiet, and Grace thinks she can physically hear the seconds ticking by. Frankie lets the air lie still between them for a few more moments before venturing a reply. “Grace, I’ve been thinking - ”

She trails off, taking in Grace’s alarmed expression. The way the palm on her knee pauses its gentle pattern of ministrations. Realises that Grace has misread the seriousness of her tone. Is hearing sirens and elevator dings. She tilts Grace’s chin up with the crook of her finger. Smiles kindly. “Hey, relax, Calamity Grace. Halt the express train of panic and let me start again.”

“ _Sweetheart_ ,” Frankie purrs, taking Grace’s hand and kissing the top of it before returning it to her knee. “I’ve been thinking. About a lot of things, but mostly about your letter.” Her eyes glitter with affection.

Frankie holds up the clay for Grace to see and then squashes it flat. Lifts it back up. “This was my life before you happened to me, Grace. A horizontal plain in the sticks - as drab and barren as they come. And I was content to lead it because I had no idea - no fucking clue - how much I was missing out on. How out-of-this-world euphoric I could actually feel. How _light_.”

Grace starts to respond but Frankie presses a finger to her lips and grins, shaking her head. Fashions the clay into a little cup with her fingers.

“But this is my life _with_ you. A vessel filled to the brim with bliss and beauty. Spilling over. Running out into rivers and oceans bigger than the Pacific - oceans we don’t even have names for yet.” Her lip quivers as she presses on. Chokes back the lump in her throat. “And I wanna sail those oceans with you, baby. Only you. You and me on our majestic adventure, bumpy seas and all. Now and after.”

Grace’s eyes are also spilling over - tears dropping freely down her cheeks and collecting under her chin. Dripping onto her collar. She’s looking at Frankie with that wobbly grin and it takes every ounce of adrenalin surging through Frankie’s veins for her to continue. “Fuck me, this is harder than I thought it would be.” She sniffs. “Come here, let me show you.” She rolls out the clay. Shapes it into a tiny circle.

“It’s me that doesn’t have the words now, Groovy Hanson. Because there aren’t enough words in a thousand different languages to do this jerry-built heart of mine justice. So I hope you don’t think it’s a cop out but I’ve cobbled together some lines from my biggest hero that I hope’ll get my point across. I mean, I took some artistic license but I am, after all, an artist extraordinaire.” 

She begins patting herself down frantically, swatting at her cardigan. “Holy shit, where did I put them? Wow, this is going so fucking great. Super smooth, Bergstein. Jesus Christ.” Grace is giggling hysterically, and crying at about the same level, when Frankie eventually produces a piece of paper from her dungaree pocket.

She clears her throat. Curves her lips up at Grace sheepishly. Takes her hand, and begins to read. 

 

> “My Darling Grace,  
> 
> 
> You walked straight in to the beach house and straight in to my world like a fricking hurricane and now nothing is right unless you’re here with me. You’re the most luminous, bonkers, vibrant person I’ve ever met and you’re my safe place. You stop me from launching myself into the void and when you laugh my fucking heart stops.
> 
> Because yes, you drive me up the fucking wall. Nearly into traffic sometimes. And I annoy the hell out of you. But I love it. Without fail, even when we fight like nut jobs, you're the best part of my day, every single day. The one thing, besides the kids, that matters most to me in this whole mind-blowing world. The top of my priority list. My favourite everything.
> 
> And I want to be the person you come home to, Grace, no matter what. To squeeze your hand through the scary movies and hold you through the rest of our days. Because you're my person. _Eres el amor de mi vida,_ Grace Hanson. I mean that with all my heart.
> 
> All my love,  
>  Frankie
> 
> PS. I’d really love to be your wife. Will you marry me?”

Frankie takes Grace’s left hand and - so carefully - rolls the clay down her finger. She can feel Grace shaking beneath her touch and her own body is vibrating with nervous delight. Eager anticipation. Grace looks down, briefly, at the squidgy band. It is soft, and warm, and she feels that warmth spreading through her whole arm. Across her chest. Up her neck. Feels it cleansing her from the outside in.

Grace thinks she might be floating. Like the bench she’s sitting on is evaporating beneath her and she’s rising with it - being lifted towards the chalky moonlight. Isn’t sure she still has legs that will support her. 

Because Frankie is here and _perfect_ and wants to marry _her_. Wants to be _her_ wife. _Her_ \- so stitched through with flaws - so jam-packed with baggage she’d take up a whole plane’s allowance. Would be laughed out of the airport. _She_ is the one Frankie wants to be with. The person Frankie called her _hero_. And Grace cannot contain her giddiness. Cannot bow down to enough gods or thank enough lucky stars.

She gazes back up at her favourite face. At Frankie’s glistening eyes. The smiles on each of them are brighter than ever. Are unmatched by anything this side of the cosmos. “Are you sure, Sweetheart? Is this just because of before?” Grace asks, dancing her lips over Frankie’s collarbone. “Because we might be old, and ramshackle, and over the hill already, but I plan on us being around for at least the next twenty years. Do you think you can put up with me for that long?”

Frankie finally wraps Grace in her arms and kisses her ear. “For even longer,” she swears, “and I promise you, _My Angel_ \- we’ll keep dancing until the lights go out. With walking sticks and wheelchairs if we have to.”

Grace lets out a tear-soaked laugh and nods. She takes Frankie’s face between her trembling hands and kisses her with every drop of love she possesses in her still-floating body. Matches Frankie stroke for stroke, spelling out her adoration with her tongue. It’s airy and dazzling. Promises solace and security. 

“Then yes, My Idiot. _Of course_ , I will.” She giggles, kissing the tear tracks from Frankie’s cheeks. “My answer - no changies, no take-backs - is always, _yes_.”

* * *

Grace has a real ring now, with pale sapphires that Frankie says match her eyes. And Frankie has one, too - a smooth, turquoise stone that she cannot stop touching, even in the dark. Cannot assure herself enough that this is really her life.

Their small garden now has ripe raspberries and Frankie’s fingertips are constantly stained inky red. Her plump lips are pink and sugary from the syrupy treats. She usually collects as many as she can hold in her hands and wolfs them down one by one. Savours the sticky tang of the little berries that they planted _together_. Nurtured together. For her, nothing could taste sweeter.

And as much as the red splotches on their pillows irk Grace - as much as she chides Frankie for their rocketing amount of dry-cleaning - she loves them. Because Frankie always smells earthy, and rooted, and those marks pay homage to that. Are testimonies to how Frankie experiences the world - with a childlike wonder that she’s somehow managed to keep alive. Her deep-set, watchful eyes are in love with almost everything they land on and Grace feels fortunate that she gets to witness that first hand. That those eyes, miraculously, fell on her, too.

Like their vegetable patch, they water their love every day. They take care of it. Pull up the weeds and add nutrients to the soil. A scattering of kindness here, a sprinkled gesture there. Root for each other and help each other grow. Grow together.

The air inside their room smells of lavender and sweet peas and Grace takes this, _always_ , as a reminder to pull Frankie just a tiny bit closer. Grins against the back of Frankie’s neck. Because now, she muses, _now_ , when the end comes, whenever that might be, she doesn’t need people to say, ‘Grace Hanson died rich’. She wants them to say - truthfully, she thinks proudly - ‘Grace Hanson died _happy_.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, folks! Thanks so much for reading this story - I really hope you enjoyed it! Please let me know your thoughts :). (I know there's less incentive to comment now because the piece has come to an end but I still have some ideas for other fics and maybe even stories in this little series, so any feedback is great to get my muse going!) <3
> 
> I really hope that it doesn't disappoint!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! 
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed their journey through the seasons as much as I've enjoyed writing it.


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